


Complications

by tatou



Category: BioShock Infinite, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, in which aster is booker and jack is elizabeth and there are no familial ties between them at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s drawn to every new thing like a magnet, looking over it in gleeful awe and touching it with a hushed reverence, leaning in to observe it closely.</p><p>Apparently Aster is one of these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. salts

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t had the chance to fully think this AU through, but the most important/notable change is that Jack and Aster are not in any way related. Jack is not Comstock’s son. He is still capable of using tears.
> 
> This will likely only be a short series of oneshots, all set in the Infinite universe but with Jack and Aster as Elizabeth and Booker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s drawn to every new thing like a magnet, looking over it in gleeful awe and touching it with a hushed reverence, leaning in to observe it closely.
> 
> Apparently Aster is one of these things.

Jack’s mad at him, but for now Aster can’t bring himself to care. He’s too busy scouting out ahead of them, making sure the skylines are clear and there’s no coppers to recognize him, the brand on his hand.

 

His left hand crackles with remnants of the Shock Jockey’s energy-he’s going to need to find more salts soon. Clear as their surroundings look now, he can’t risk going headlong into any building without proper preparations. Here, reinforcements come from the sky, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let himself be caught so easily.

 

He’s not letting them take Jack, either.

 

Returning to where the boy sits crouched beneath a stack of crates, Aster props the barrel of his shotgun over his shoulder, his legs aching from their endless running.

 

“Nothing ahead but it’s getting dark.” He says, and Jack watches him silently. “Dunno about you, but I reckon I could use some rest before my legs fall off.”

 

“Where?” Jack asks, craning his neck to look dubiously at the mess of blood and bodies they’ve left there.  Aster’s already ransacked the corpses for a scarce bit of coins and extra pistol rounds.

 

Aster shrugs. The buildings all around them look empty-evacuated, possibly, or merely uninhabited. “Take your pick.”

 

Jack chooses a tall house snug between other nondescript homes. He picks their way in, working quickly and yanking Aster (and the door) in behind him to keep their efforts unseen.

 

For several minutes they explore the building and find it blessedly unoccupied. Aster takes what he can use: a generous handful of silver eagles, two medical kits and a basket filled with pears and bits of cake.

 

“Here.” He says gruffly, handing the stuff to Jack, who eagerly takes a fruit and chomps into it with gusto.

 

It’s been almost two days since Jack’s jailbreak.

 

The kid’s continuous wonder at the new world around him is interesting to watch, heartbreaking to contemplate. 18 years and he hasn’t had the chance to interact with others or taste cotton candy before now.

 

Aster has to hand it to him, though. Jack takes it all in stride, bounces happily before him and provides him with little snippets of information and what ammunitions he can find. He speaks easily to people despite his lack of knowledge on social propriety, and when Aster finds him talking animatedly to a nervous Negro he has to quickly pull the boy aside and haul him off somewhere they can’t be found.

 

It’s not that Aster abides by these ridiculous societal rules. Even in New York he’d found this rift between races nonsense. They’re all human, aren’t they?

 

Maybe in New York they would have been better off.

 

But here, Jack’s friendly chat had raised eyebrows, and he’d caught sight of a policeman approaching them. He’d had tointervene somehow.

 

Jack doesn’t understand the racial barriers either, from what he can tell. Books don’t always explain everything.

 

They’ve holed up in the attic, dragged some blankets and spare clothing pulled from the wardrobes to line the floor and muffle their sounds. The fur coats are almost too hot to lie on, but as Aster settles onto his back the plush stuff presses gently up against him and it’s more comfort than he’s felt in weeks.

 

“Does it ever get any easier?”

 

Jack’s watching him, holding another pear in his hands. “The killing, I mean.”

 

“No.” Aster says, and that’s the truth. “But I’d rather draw first than be robbed of my last breath.”

 

He rolls onto his side, running a hand over the pistol he’s tucked beside him to make sure it’s still there.

 

Just in case.

 

His other weapons and supplies are stacked neatly to his side, his vest slung up onto the back of a dusty chair. Jack doesn’t have much to change out of, but he’s found a cleaner shirt to wear. He’s a smart thing, quick and efficient in battle. The same can’t be said for Aster: his own blood coats both their vestments, and Aster’s sure he can still feel some of it sliding weirdly against his heated skin.

 

It’s a risk, this hiding out and waiting for the night to pass, but Aster’s begun to feel so lightheaded as of late (and the nosebleeds-they’re becoming more  _frequent_ ) that it’s just not an option anymore. If he’s going to make it out of Columbia-repay his debt-save  _Jack_ , he needs to have a clear and focused mind. He’s not going to jumble this up.

 

“Fuck.” He hisses and sits up tiredly, rubbing at his hip.

 

There’s a lockpick still in his pocket, and as he’d moved its sharper end had dug into his hip.

 

“Want me to carry that?” Jack holds out a hand, pale and pink at the edges.

 

“Yeah.” Aster grunts, pulling the tool out and dropping it into the outstretched palm. “You’re better with ‘em, anyway.”

 

Jack doesn’t say anything. He stows the lockpick away into his shirt pocket and shifts a little closer to Aster, holding the half-eaten fruit to his lips.

“You need to eat.” He reminds Aster patiently.

 

Aster frowns and purses his lips, tilting his head stubbornly away. “I did earlier.”

 

“Liar.” Jack accuses, and since he doesn’t move his hand, Aster rolls his eyes and leans forward. His teeth sink into the fruit’s white flesh and he bites out a soft chunk, its juices sweet and plentiful on his tongue.

 

He’s aware of Jack’s gaze on his lips. Does Jack know how Aster’s watching him as well?

 

“I’m sorry.” Aster says once he’s swallowed. “For the-earlier. I-“

 

“Why apologize for what you’ve been hired to do?” Jack retorts quietly, and Aster falls silent. The kid’s confusing as all hell sometimes and it tires him even now to wonder at what he means, but the look on Jack’s face isn’t anything like anger. It only seems like tired acceptance.

 

“I won’t try again.” Aster promises. “I couldn’t do that to you. Paris, this time. Okay?”

 

Jack’s answering smile is radiant with hope.

 

Clearing his throat, Aster takes the pear from his ward and takes another bite. They’re both silent and tired now, tired at their own misgivings and the world around them.

 

When Jack joins him on their misshapen bed of coats, he smells of sweat and fire and relief.

 

“Found you some salts.” He hands Aster the bottle, watches as the Australian unstoppers it and drains it. “Noticed you were running low.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

He jumps in surprise when Jack’s hand darts out, curious little fingers rubbing at the wet of leftover salts on his lips.

 

“What does it taste like?” He questions. “I haven’t read much on these..vigors.”

 

Aster shivers and thinks hard.

 

18 years without much in the way of physical contact or interaction. Kid probably spent half his time with the giant metal bird and with those scientists, and the other half alone. How must he have felt all this time, reading books on sciences and codes and fictional and real interactions and conversations, knowing that he’d never had a proper one himself?

 

And back in the tower, when they’d first met. How the kid had reached for him, wondrous disbelief on his face. The way he babbled cheerily to strangers, gave friendly little smiles and waved to the children they’d met. He  _craved_  contact, sought after it.

 

Has he ever known a gentle touch?

 

Jack’s fingers tickle at his lips, prodding the flesh carefully. “Tastes like lemonade and whiskey.”

 

Almost laughably, their collective gazes flicker down to Aster’s left hand, which glows with sickly green wisps of possession. 

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Aster shakes off the urge to jerk away from the boy’s hands. Curious though he may be, he doesn’t like the way he’s started to think of those blue eyes as wide and sweet, the way he’s begun to look at this newly freed, so called ‘ _Lamb’_  with affection.

 

“Not really.” He flexes his hand, but Jack’s fingers still haven’t moved away from his lips and he feels the boy shiver. “Devil’s Kiss feels like I’m passing my hand over a candle-doesn’t actually hurt unless I’m standin’ in the way of the charge.”

 

“Kiss.” Jack repeats, and takes advantage of the way Aster looks at him in confusion to slip a fingertip into his mouth. Aster doesn’t have time to move away before Jack slides on top of him, pulling his finger out to cradle his bruised and tired face.

 

Jack takes a moment to observe him. He strokes his skinny palms down the groove of Aster’s jaw, thumbing curiously at his eyebrows and tracing what’s visible of his tattoos from beneath his crumpled collar.

 

He’s drawn to every new thing like a magnet, looking over it in gleeful awe and touching it with a hushed reverence, leaning in to observe it closely.

 

Apparently Aster is one of these things.

 

“Mr. Bunnymund-“

 

“ _Aster_.”

 

Jack scowls a little at the interruption. “Aster.” He says. “I know we’ve had our rough spots, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve yet forgiven you for trying to turn me in. But I feel I’ll go mad if I don’t thank you for getting me out of that tower.”

 

“There’s no need to do that.” Aster whispers. “I wasn’t doin’ you any favors, I was doing what I was hired to do.”

 

“That may be so.” Jack allows. “But even then, without you I’d still be trapped there.”

 

“Don’t-“ Aster blurts, and that’s all he can really say before Jack’s kissing him.

 

Through the duration of it, all Aster can think is just how enraged the Prophet would be if he knew the False Shepherd had locked lips with his Lamb. For a minute he tenses up and goes still, half-expecting the walls to crumble around them and for Songbird’s high screech to pierce at his eardrums.

 

But nothing comes, and when Jack shivers atop him and deepens the kiss, Aster finds his walls of precaution rotting away and his arms reach up around that thin frame, grounding the boy to him.

 

He’s terribly inexperienced and so they fumble a little, but the gratefulness is apparent in the gesture and that’s what matters.

 

“There.” He says, once he’s pulled himself off to Aster’s side again, his cheeks bright pink.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Aster mumbles. He’s quietly dazed now, his brain working to pick up pieces of his thoughts where they’d flown against his skull and shattered.

 

“It was me thanking you.” Jack laughs, a little shyly. “I read a book once, where something like this-I wanted to try it out.”

 

“Well, don’t try that again, okay?” Aster puts on a stern look, one that hides his horror at what’s just transpired. He’s old enough to be the kid’s  _father_. “We should be resting.”

 

Jack shrugs. He doesn’t seem bothered by Aster’s words, so that’s a good sign. “Fair enough.” He agrees.

 

Aster hates himself for it, but as he watches Jack turn over and huddle up to sleep, all he can do is touch softly at his own lips and think is  _‘This is going to complicate everything.’_

 


	2. bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a blow from a fist or the scrape of a bullet just missing his ribcage. This is his punishment, a backhanded scolding for his sins. The way it hurts to breathe tells him so, reminds him as his lungs blister and burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting back to this because I'm on my third playthrough of this game and I love everything about it and this AU.

Aster begins to lose focus.

 

He's been struck- a bullet in his hip, burning straight into his flesh, and the world goes too bright. Every noise around him sounds like the screech of metal against metal, obnoxious and intent on aggravating him.

 

They don't have a chance of fighting like this, so he slumps, lets Jack drag him into another house. This one takes longer to lock-pick, isn't empty, is too close to the hectic scene they've just abandoned.

 

Blood makes his clothes heavy on his form, stains the ground behind them. They're going to be found out.

 

“Th' blood-” He slurs to Jack, who shakes his head, sweats as he drags them both up the stairs as quietly as he can. There are voices in the kitchen- how are they going to do this?

 

“Leave me here- go clean up the blood.” Aster orders again, and this time Jack pauses, weighing their options. “ _Go!”_

 

He doesn't answer, just gently lowers Aster onto the stairway, half-hidden by the banister, and runs with light feet in search of something to clean their trail. It's probably not going to help, but it'll buy them time, keep them from being found too fast.

 

Reaching into his vest, Aster pulls out a small health-pack, pries it open with bloody, slippery hands. He yanks his shirt out of the way, sops up the blood that leaks with its ragged fabric and stupidly considers pulling out the bullet himself. He can't leave it in there- what if it's ruptured something?

 

Jack comes scrambling up the steps, tossing a bloodied washrag away. “I think one of them saw me- we have to leave, fast.”

 

“Fuck.” Aster hisses, forcing himself up, gritting his teeth to bear the pain. He can feel the blood trickling onto his skin with each rough movement, wonders if he's going to lose everything because of bloodloss.

 

Jack grabs him and they struggle their way upstairs. They find a room with a balcony and climb out as stealthily as they can. The jolt of the skyhook's magnet, and the terrific **CLANG** it lets out when they go flying towards the next balcony is sure to alert the authorities to them, but as they drop to the balcony's ground Aster cries out in dismay, feels the skin around his wound stretch and tear.

 

“Sh, shh, we're okay, you're okay, you're gonna make it.” Jack stammers, spreading Aster out onto his back and taking a moment to peer around. There's heavy curtains on the balcony windows and they've apparently had enough good fortune left over to ensure an unnoticed escape, but that's the thing with luck- it ends as abruptly as it begins, and they're not going to squander it away with misguided confidence.

 

He drops to his knees, yanks out the health-packs he's hidden out for emergencies. He's shaking, dropping things out of the little white bag and stammering again as he apologizes.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't have anything to knock you out with, I don't know if I can-”

 

His white hands look wrong with Aster's blood- unreal.

 

“S'okay.” Aster mumbles, forcing his eyes open to look up at Jack. He'd stroke that cheek if he could lift his arm. “Just do it. I'll be fine.”

 

“I'll hurt you.” Jack whispers, but he's taking up the sewing case, pulling out the needle with unsteady hands, pulling out a long, shiny set of tweezers that make Aster want to vomit in fear.

 

He's going to have to pull out the bullet and sew Aster back together before he bleeds out. They don't have anything he can use to numb the pain. There's a good chance they're going to be found here: vulnerable, easy pickings for the good Prophet's men. This isn't a blow from a fist or the scrape of a bullet _just_ missing his ribcage. This is his punishment, a backhanded scolding for his sins. The way it hurts to breathe tells him so, reminds him as his lungs blister and burn.

 

Aster wants to smile and reassure Jack. His body refuses to do so, begins to slowly close up and go limp instead. Behinds his half-lowered eyelids, he sees Ana. Gemlike eyes he'll never see again, that he last saw narrowed in pain and terror. “I deserve it.” He says.

 

“Stay awake for me, please Aster-” Jack begs. Tweezers and clean rags in hand, he's shimmying his way up Aster's midsection, bent at the waist to search the wound for the bullet.

 

“Okay,” Aster says, and faints.

 

I I I I I I

 

The process went well, Jack tells him.

 

“You were calling for someone.” He says. “Ana.”

 

It's been hours since he woke. Weak and useless, Aster feels feverish. He leans on Jack to walk, carries his pistol limply and struggles under the weight of the RPG strapped to his back. He hasn't yet found anything lighter to swap it out with. At least if they're cornered, he can rely on its blast radius to clear a path.

 

They've sneaked their way into a closed ice-cream parlor near the Hall of Heroes. As Jack ransacks the boxes and shelves for food and health-packs, Aster empties the register, pockets lock-picks and stray ammunition, moving jerkily, like the cheery, insistent robots topping the vending machines outside.

 

He does his best to keep his face expressionless. “Just a dream.”

 

“Was she your wife?”

 

Jack's still looking through the shelves. Aster takes this moment to rest, and settles uneasily into one of the round little tables that dot the center floor, scuffing the floor tiredly with his boots. “Someone I knew.”

 

Jack doesn't press, but Aster can sense he wants to know more. It's typical of Jack- everything he knows comes from the books he was given in that tower. He likes to know the facts, the every bit of history and information he can glean from a single object.

 

Aster wonders if Jack knows why he chose the cage.

 

When Aster catches glimpses of it, ivory and delicately nestled in the hollow of Jack's throat (because who is to say a man cannot wear jewelery?), he wonders what it was that made him choose this design over that wide-winged bird.

 

Those two odd people- remarkable look-alikes, twins?- had appeared before them outside Battleship Bay, holding out the two small cases. Intrigued, Jack had gone to look, and had asked which one Aster liked best.

 

'Nothing beats the cage,' The woman had said, drily. She'd stared at Aster like she knew him, eyes expectant, chin raised almost haughtily. Her doppelganger did the same, the bird lying in his palm like he was offering Aster the better half of a peach.

 

_Go on, take it. You must choose._

 

He catches a good look at it when Jack steps before him, arms full of supplies. Setting them on Aster's table, Jack pulls a chair closer, reaches out busily to pull Aster's vest shirt and holster aside and trail his fingers over the wound, which pulses in pain.

 

“We can't go on like this.” He says. “One Handyman finds us and we're- you're dead.”

 

And that's the beauty of it, Aster thinks. Jack knows they'll kill Aster, toss him against some blades and finally be rid of the False Prophet. But Jack- they'll keep him, lock him up again and do only god knows what to him. Punish him for accepting temptation, for allowing himself to be led astray.

 

But he says _we_ like they're in this together, like he's not going to take another step unless Aster's at his side. He's going to go through with it because he wants a life of things that are not Columbia and prophecy, and he wants to do it with Aster.

 

It's _hot_. It's July, it's evening and it's so unbearably stifling in the little parlor. Aster shakes his head warily, unstrapping his RPG and lowering it to the floor.

 

They need to find another hideout, somewhere Aster can recuperate and Jack can see as much of this world before they leave it.

 

Because Aster won't have Jack suffocate in this mad-man city if he can help it.

 

Because he wants Jack to see Paris.

 

“We're making our way out of here if we have to bring the whole city down.” He says, and the conviction in his tone makes Jack's hands startle, clutch at his shirt and skin like he's been shocked straight through to the nerves.

 

This time, he doesn't give a damn when Jack kisses him. He presses the youth back into the little table, runs calloused fingers over his choker and snaps it in two.

 

The carved ivory cage doesn't break when it hits the ground, but the thud it makes is louder than any gunshot Aster has ever heard.

 

Jack goes on kissing him, shivering at Aster's hands on his neck. He sees it lying there under the table when they leave, but makes no move to retrieve it.

 


End file.
